


What We Owe

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M, White House era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: Five times Jon almost came out to President Obama and the one time he did.





	What We Owe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtThePleasureOfThePundit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtThePleasureOfThePundit/gifts).



> Written for AtThePleasureOfThePundit for the Crooked Exchange. Your prompts were amazing and I hope you enjoy this!

**1\. Fall 2008**

“Fuck, this thing is long.” Tommy stretches out on his couch, biting his lip as he flips through the long, printed documents.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have left our security clearance applications ’til the night before,” Jon mutters, as his phone rings. “Speak of the devil- Hey, Alyssa,” he answers his phone, putting it on speaker phone. “What’s up?”

“Just making the rounds,” Alyssa’s voice comes through, tinny and faux-casual. “I want to make sure tomorrow goes as smoothly as possible. But, you’re not my problem child- I’m sure your SF-86 has been finished for days.”

“Ahh, yeah,” Jon glances down at his blank forms, and flinches. “Done. Totally. No issues from me or Tommy tomorrow.”

“Good, good. You’ll remind anyone else you talk to tonight?”

“Sure, sure. ‘Course.”

“Alright, have a good night, then.”

“You, too.” Jon ends the call, double-checks after that embarrassing night in Iowa, and only then sighs. “We’re so fucked.”

“Yeah.” Tommy unfolds himself from the couch. As he passes Jon, he hands over the joint. “I’m gonna make a pot of coffee.”

“Great idea.” Jon rolls onto his back, taking a long draw off the joint as he raises the packet above him. “Name: Jonathan E. Favreau. Birthdate: June 2, 1981. Birth location: Winchester. Hey, this is gonna be easy.”

“Wait ’til we get to section 3b,” Tommy calls from the kitchen.

“What happens in section 3b?” Jon flips twenty pages forward.

Tommy shrugs as he reappears. Jon can hear the pot percolating in the kitchen. “No idea. I just heard some of the policy staff bitching about it at lunch.”

Jon groans and lets the application fall back into place, re-focusing on the front page. He gets through the sections on his name and past jobs, then through his parents’ information and more details about his contacts on the campaign than he ever thought he’d remember.

“Does writing an article against single payer healthcare in college count as ‘have you ever done something that would reflect poorly on the President?’” Tommy asks as he blows on his coffee mug and shakes his ankle against the couch’s armrest.

“You wrote an article against single payer?”

“It was a ‘take the other side’ Model UN kinda thing.” Tommy rests his head in his hand, pulling his cheek tight so that his eyes are slitted and his mouth is a long, thin frown. “I got kinda into it, though. I was a young bozo. I feel like that shouldn’t be counted against me?”

“That can’t count,” Jon argues. “But working for Jon Edwards definitely does.”

Tommy groans, checking off the ‘yes’ box and moving on to the ‘additional details’ section to explain himself.

Jon makes it through the sections on past addresses and financial details - where he has to outline an embarrassing lack of savings accounts or mutual funds - on a single cup of coffee before he stalls out.

“How, ahh-” Jon taps his pen against his forms. “How truthful are we supposed to be in this thing?”

“‘It’s better to admit to problems now then let the Secret Service uncover embarrassing truths later,’” Tommy recites from their briefing.

“Where’s Tommy and what did Rhodes do with the body?”

“Haha.” Tommy deadpans, blowing out a ring of smoke then pushes off the couch, just far enough to hand the joint back to Jon. “He’s right, though.”

Jon hums, glancing at the joint before taking a long, unsteady draw that has him coughing into his fist. “Andy said he knows a drink recipe. Tastes terrible, but the antioxidants will fool the drug tests.”

“Cool.” Tommy flips forward, making a note on his form. “Only admitting to past marijuana use, then.”

Jon laughs, “me too,” and glances back at his form, the title, ‘Past Relationships,’ staring back at him in Times New Roman, the sharp angles and curved ‘t’s mocking him. 

Jon’s already scribbled in Sarah - the high school girlfriend he chased for over a year before it crashed-and-burned on their third ice cream date - and Kelley, his college girlfriend who lasted long enough for him to lose his virginity to, but not much longer. He even adds Tasha, the press secretary intern he fell into bed with on and off for almost the full year of the campaign.

In the fourth line, though, he’s written, ‘Ben,’ scribbled it out, and written it in again. Calling Ben a relationship would be an exaggeration’s exaggeration. They shared hand jobs, if rutting together on the dorm couch can really count as hand jobs, and arguments about the League of Nations and isolationism that almost always felt more intimate than the few times Jon got his hand down Ben’s sweats.

Jon’s not sure what he’d be admitting to by including him, though. Some vague college experimentation driven by alcohol and too many late nights or a thirst for political discourse that had nothing - well, only a little - to do with Ben’s dick. If Jon had fallen for something in Ben’s mind, that’s not entirely news. Jon’s always known that he’s attracted to minds over bodies, and Ben’s mind was- well, there was something very charismatic about Ben’s mind. Jon had been smitten for a few months before he had met Kelley and then that was that.

There’s no need to come out to the President of the United States and his intelligence agencies over something as innocuous and un-repeatable as a three month mind-fling in college.

Jon crosses out ‘Ben’ again and moves on to the next section.

**2\. Spring 2009**

“You’re late. And you look like shit,” Dan greets him at the entrance, a stack of manila folders in his arms that he immediately drops into Jon’s.

“Thanks,” Jon grouses, adjusting the folders so he can shake snow out of his sheared hair. “I was up past two on the commerce speech and the Red Line is backed up three trains.”

“We need a better infrastructure plan.” Dan looks at him pointedly. “And you need to hire some speechwriters.”

“I have someone coming in today, actually. In,” he glances at his watch and swears, “shit, 5 minutes.”

“Good.” Dan’s pager bings and he frowns at it, already starting to back away, towards the Oval. “I’ve gotta go, but, if he’s even half decent, hire him. You need the help.”

“I appreciate the confidence,” Jon calls after him.

Dan grins, “I’m always here for you,” and then is gone.

Jon drops his things in his office and grabs his tie, tying it as he jogs back up the stairs to the lobby. His candidate’s already standing at reception, his jacket slung over his arm and a thick woolen hat pulled low over his ears. He’s wearing a navy blue sweater over grey slacks and faux-leather shoes ruined by snow and salt.

Jon claps a hand on the security guard’s shoulder, “I think this one’s mine, Stan,” and reaches around him to hold out his free hand. “Jon Lovett?”

“Yeah.” Lovett’s hand is small and cold, and he pulls back quickly. “Nice to finally meet you, in person.”

Jon chuckles, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, ahh, thank you for smoothing that over with Secretary Clinton. You really saved my ass.”

“No problem.” Lovett shrugs, his shoulders wide under his sweater. He adjusts the strap of his backpack. “What else are ex-staffers of failed primary candidates for?” His eyes widen with self-deprecating humor, bright and brown under his foggy glasses.

“I might have some ideas about that.” Jon turns, heading back to his office and Lovett falls into step beside him. “Your writing sample-“

“I wrote that on the bus,” Lovett interrupts. “I was, ahh, heading home for my mother’s birthday and I- I mean, I had it written ahead of time, of course,” Lovett corrects himself, “but the polishing was done on the bus and do you know how bumpy the road is between here and NY? Point is, I can do better.”

“- was very good. The President was impressed,” Jon concludes, laughing a little.

“Oh.” Lovett drops his bag onto the floor next to Jon’s desk. “The President read my speech?”

“Well, no. But I did, and a few other members of the communications staff. We were all pretty impressed.”

Lovett crosses his legs, slipping his hands between his thighs to warm them. “That’s a relief, actually.”

“He is, though, very hands on with every speech. He’s a writer, at heart, and he knows what he’s talking about. If that’s going to be a problem-“

“No, no, no problem.” Lovett glances down, at where there’s a loose string in the seam of his pants. 

Jon follows his gaze, clears his throat. “Great.”

“There is, ahh, just one thing. Not a, ahh, problem on my side but, I mean, I think you need to know, before you make any decisions.” Lovett raises his head, catches Jon’s eyes defiantly. “I’m gay. Obviously, right? It’s just, I’ve worked for politicians before that wanted me to hide it and that’s not something I’m willing to do. Even for my dream job.”

Jon swallows. “That’s not a problem.” His words sound hollow to his own ears, as he remembers back to his FBI background check, the way they pushed him on his romantic history, the way he told white lies, again and again.

He must sound sincere, though, because Lovett’s smile spreads, lighting up his entire face. “Cool. You may proceed with your intimate questions about my favorite kind of ice cream - mint chocolate chip is the only acceptable choice - and my position on healthcare - single payer all the way, but I can be pragmatic about it.”

Jon shakes his head, glancing down at his list of questions for a moment so he can gather himself. “Let’s start with your work on the Clinton campaign.”

***

It’s going on midnight by the time Jon finds a moment to talk to Dan. He leaves the speech he’s been trying to write for hours, rubbing at his eyes as he leans in Dan’s doorway. “Hey,” he says, quietly.

Dan glances up from his briefing book. “Hey. How’s the commerce speech coming?”

Jon pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s coming.”

“I’ll be here for a few more hours, so, whenever you have a draft, I’ll take a look.” He turns back to the thick packet in front of him.

“Yeah,” Jon hesitates, rolling his back against the door jamb. “This one’s gonna need some revision.”

“It’s a sad state of affairs that I’m the one you’re coming to for that,” Dan chuckles, glancing back up. “Oh, hey, how’d that interview go?”

“Good. He’s- he’s probably a better speechwriter than me.” Jon pause. “Can I ask- I mean, it’s not a thing, but-” He swallows, and barrels onwards. “He’s gay.”

Dan frowns. “I hope you didn’t ask him that.”

“Of course not.” Jon crosses his arms across his chest. “He told me, in the interview. I wanted to check, to make sure it wasn’t a problem?”

“The White House has a non-discriminatory hiring policy.”

“No, no, I know. It wasn’t a legal question.” Jon shrugs. His heart is beating, loudly, against his chest and he folds his shoulders inwards around it. “But, culturally- how he’ll be treated-“

“If he’s good at his job then he’ll fit in just fine,” Dan says, forcefully.

“Right, that’s what I told him. I just wanted to make sure.”

Dan narrows his eyes. “That goes for anyone on the staff.” His voice is low and gruff and way too close to a conversation Jon is not ready to have yet.

Jon pushes off the wall. “I’ll call him tomorrow. Maybe he can start as soon as Monday.”

“Good.” Dan nods, tapping his briefing book again. “I’ve gotta get back to this, if I have any hope of going home tonight. Bring the commerce speech over when you have it?”

Jon’s shoulders ease and, with them, some of the writer’s block he’s been battling for days now. “Should only be another hour or so.”

**3\. March 2010**

Jon’s phone rings.

He glances up, blinking against the bright Starbucks lights, blinding against the predawn sky outside the windows of the only open cafe this early in the morning. 

Lovett doesn’t look up from his laptop as he asks, “you gonna answer that?”

“No one calls before 6am with good news,” Jon grumbles, but he does pick up his blackberry. “Favreau here.”

“Jon, hey.” Axe sounds chipper. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“We’re preparing a healthcare speech in three days. Sleep is a distant memory.”

Axe chuckles. “So, listen, I’m just coming from breakfast with the President. He likes the new draft of the ACA speech, especially the section you added on tax credits.”

“That was Lovett,” Jon says, giving Lovett a thumbs up over their laptops.

Lovett’s fingers pause for just a moment as he ducks his head, then the sound of typing starts up again.

“Well, the President liked it. A lot.” Axe’s voice drops, and Jon grimaces pro-actively. “So much, in fact, that he’d like to see a new version that emphasizes the credits in the C, D, and G sections. And he’d like to see some language around Medicaid fraud.”

Jon exes out of the Word document he’s working on and declines to save it. “Of course. We’ll have a new draft by lunch.”

“Thanks, Favs. I owe you a drink when this is all over.”

“You owe me a whole bottle. Of the good stuff,” Jon argues, then ends the call. He taps at the top of Lovett’s screen. “We need to redo the C, D, and G sections with an emphasis on tax policy.”

Lovett closes his laptop a little, and Jon can see how wide his eyes are, under his limp, unwashed hair. He’s wearing his glasses - he’d given up on his contacts forty-eight hours before, which was also, Jon’s pretty sure, the last time Lovett slept - and he adjusts them. “You’re going to find a way to make this my fault,” he grouses.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “This is your fault.”

“Yeah, see, I knew you were going to say that, but let me tell you why it’s not-“

“As much as I’d like to hear you dig yourself further into this hole you’ve dug for yourself,” Jon interrupts, tapping his foot against Lovett’s ankle under the table, “we really don’t have time.”

Lovett sighs dramatically. “It’s really not fair, but, this crazy-eyed thing you’ve got going?” He waves his palm to emphasize Jon’s face. “It somehow makes you _more_ handsome. How is that even fair?” 

Jon’s heart catches painfully and for one, wild moment, he thinks that it won’t start beating again.

Lovett pushes back from his chair, grabbing both their cups, as he continues, like he has no idea what effect his comments have. “I’ll get the next round, then I’ll take the C section, if you wanna get started on Medicaid?”

Jon swallows and opens up a blank Word document.

***

Jon reaches the end of the page before he realizes he hasn’t actually read the middle paragraph. For the third time. He rubs his eyes, digging his thumbs into the corners, before opening them as wide as he can and starting again. 

_That large-heartedness - that concern and regard for the plight of all Americans - is not a partisan feeling. It is not a Republican or a Democratic feeling. It is the same feeling I-_

Jon frowns, glancing at the “Draft 34a” in the header, before shuffling the papers around on his desk, looking for a 34b version that isn’t the same damn thing he’s been reading since Draft 31. The stack of manila folders teetering on the edge of his desk tip over, spilling across the floor, and he clenches his fists, pushing his chair back, and throwing his office door open.

“Sheila!”

His secretary stops typing mid-sentence and glances up at him. “Hey, Jon. That was a fast read. I was gonna wait til you were done, but some of the guys are ordering from the mess. I added a tuna salad for you, but I can change it if-“

“What I want,” Jon says, shaking the speech in his hands. The paper is crumpled around his fingers, “is the correct fucking draft. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

Sheila blinks, her voice wavering a little as she says, “that’s the version you sent me.”

“This is the old version. Just look at the D section. Read that.” He shoves the speech at her, pointing at the middle paragraph. “Does that sound like a line I want the President to say?”

She glances from the page to Jon’s red, blotchy face. “I honestly couldn’t say.”

“You’re the secretary for the President’s writing staff. You might wanna have an opinion on, you know, the President’s speeches. Just a thought.”

“I- I’m sorry.” She bites her lip, taking the speech from his hands with trembling fingers. “I’ll get you the latest draft.”

“Bring it in the moment you get it. We don’t have time to waste.” Jon takes a step backwards. His stomach growls. “And I hate tuna. Get me ham.”

She cringes. “They’re out of ham.”

Jon sighs, deep and loud and exaggerated. “Fine, whatever. I’ll just take a coffee.”

She nods and he storms back to his office. He feels a little light-headed, his body buzzing, and he pauses in the doorway to scrub at his eyes again. They feel red and are a little blurry around the edges.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sheila wipe quickly at her eyes. She reaches towards the printer, but then Lovett is there, his hand on her shoulder, holding out a Kleenex. He takes the speech from her hand, saying, “I got it,” softly.

“What? She too afraid of me now?” Jon asks, as Lovett pushes into his office and closes the door behind himself. Jon crosses behind his desk, taping his pen rhythmically against the wood. “She needs to grow a backbone if she wants to stay here long.”

“Kettle, black. Unless, of course, you want to hire your fourth secretary in six months. I can’t imagine why they keep leaving.” Lovett raises an eyebrow as he grips the back of one of Jon’s visitor chairs. “I asked Sheila to pull the D section from the latest draft. There was some language I wanted to rework on tax incentives.”

“You should have told me.” Jon nods at the speech rolled in Lovett’s hand. “That it?”

Lovett glances at the print-out. “It’s a draft, but it’s not ready for you, yet.”

Jon frowns at him. “We don’t have time for your ego. Hand it over, I’ll do the edits.”

“I can do them,” Lovett says, firmly, “I just need a little more time.”

Jon opens his mouth to say, _we don’t have time _, but Lovett cuts him off.__

__“And don’t tell me we don’t have time. You have an entire bullpen of speechwriters out there who are running on more than caffeine and an hour of sleep from three days ago. Let them do their jobs.”_ _

__Jon sighs, rubbing at his eyes. Again. They really are sore. “This is important.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__The buzz in Jon’s mind soothes a little, and he leans against his chair. “I’m really tired.”_ _

__“I know.” Lovett repeats, smiling a little, at the corners of his mouth. His cheeks dimple. “Okay, so, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to finish the D section. I’ll have it for you in the morning.” He holds up his hand before Jon can protest. “While I’m doing that, you’re gonna apologize to your secretary, then you’re gonna go home, eat a hamburger or something with actual protein in it, and get a full night’s sleep. We can edit the speech first thing in the morning. I’ll even come in before 10.”_ _

__Jon takes a deep, tired breath. “7?”_ _

__“9.”_ _

__“8, and I’ll provide coffee and donuts.”_ _

__Lovett hums, taping the rolled speech against the chair back for a moment, before nodding. “Deal.”_ _

__***_ _

__"Hey."_ _

__Jon glances behind him, the speech slipping from his hands as he sees Lovett leaning in his doorway. His tie is hanging loose around his neck, the buttons on his jacket open so it hangs loose around his hips. Jon swallows._ _

__"That the speech?" Lovett asks, nodding at the pages hanging loosely in Jon's hands._ _

__“Yeah." Jon holds it out. "I was just reading it over one last time. Do you wanna-?"_ _

__"No." Lovett pushes off the wall, taking a step into the room and letting the door click loudly closed behind him. "I've read it 15 times since yesterday. It's good. Great, even."_ _

__Jon swallows. "Yeah, it is."_ _

__Lovett takes another step forward, pressing into Jon's space like he belongs there, like he always has, like he's testing Jon's boundaries the same way he does when he rolls into the office at 11am in smart, khaki shorts and an Alexander Hamilton tie. He reaches out, his hand hanging in midair, right above Jon’s tie. “If I’ve been reading this wrong-“_ _

__Jon has a million answers to that question. He’s been saying them in his head - to himself, to Dan, to the President - for months now, things like _I’m your boss_ and _we work for the President_ and _you’re the one who could do me in_._ _

__He reaches up, wrapping his fingers around Lovett’s wrist, pulling him the final step closer. “No,” he whispers, dropping his mouth, “you haven’t read it wrong at all.”_ _

__**4\. December 2010/June 2011** _ _

__The bed is cold when Jon wakes up. He shivers, pulling his feet back under the quilts before glancing at the clock. _2:30_ blinks back at him in mocking red font._ _

__He sighs, sliding out of bed and reaching for the extra-large Williams hoodie Lovett picked up for him a couple of months ago, when he returned to his alma mater to give a talk on speechwriting in the White House. It’s big and warm and smells more like Lovett than his pillow has, these last few days._ _

__He finds Lovett in the living room, sitting at the table with his knees drawn to his chest, typing sporadically on his laptop. He’s wearing Jon’s favorite pair of Air Force One sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, his arms goose bumped in the chill winter air._ _

__Jon watches the way Lovett’s back tenses and releases for a long moment, before crossing into the kitchen and starting a pot of coffee. He lets the smell fill the kitchen before leaning his hip against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest and saying, just over the gurgle of the pot, “couldn’t sleep?”_ _

__Lovett turns his head, the lines around his eyes thick and flushed with exhaustion. “I tried not to wake you.”_ _

__“You didn’t.” Jon lies a little, ducking his head so he can pour two steaming mugs and bring them to the table. Lovett uncurls his legs and stretches them into Jon’s lap, accepting the mug. Jon nods at the laptop. “Can I read it?”_ _

__Lovett pushes the laptop away from him but not quite towards Jon. “I don’t have anything.”_ _

__Jon hums, pulling it towards him and scanning the first couple pages. He raises an eyebrow. “The remarks only have to be a couple minutes long.”_ _

__Lovett’s shoulders tense and he looks away. “Turns out I have a lot to say about DADT.”_ _

__“I get that.” Jon rubs at the insides of Lovett’s tense ankles. “I should be helping you with this. I’ve been thinking- We owe the President- _I_ owe the President-“_ _

__Lovett drops his chin into his hands, smiling small and sad. “That’s sweet.”_ _

__“I’m serious.”_ _

__“I know you are.” He shakes his head. “But you can’t. You know that, right? You still have so much good you can do, and the magnitude of that is worth everything.” Lovett nods toward the laptop. “Doesn’t mean you can’t pull a little of your own weight here, though.”_ _

__Jon chuckles, turning back to the laptop. He reads through Lovett’s stream of consciousness, bolding the important phrases and copying them into a coherent and length-appropriate set of remarks. He passes the laptop back over and Lovett reads them over, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a smile._ _

__“It’s good.”_ _

__“It’s still a little rough, but, we can fix it in the morning.” Jon shrugs, digging his thumb into a knot in Lovett’s calf. “You’ll tell me, right? When it’s not worth it for you anymore?”_ _

__“You’ll be the first I tell,” Lovett promises, swinging his legs out of Jon’s lap and pushing his chair back. “Right now, though, I really think you should take me to bed, make it a little more worth my while to stay.”_ _

__***_ _

__The President commits to ending DADT in December and certifies the act six months later. He smiles as Lovett hands him the speech, shakes his hand, says, “do you wanna be there?” which is almost - _almost_ \- enough, Jon thinks, to make him change his mind._ _

__But after the President signs the Act and before he starts his remarks, Lovett taps Jon’s wrist and nods his head towards the doorway. Jon follows him outside, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and curling his shoulders forward, knowing, deep down, what’s about to come, what’s been coming for longer than Jon wants to admit._ _

__“My college roommate- Wyatt, you remember him?”_ _

__Jon nods. “He was in Nantucket last summer, yeah?” When he closes his eyes, he can still see Lovett, dressed wildly inappropriately in Nikes and gym shorts, laughing at the lobsters on Jon’s own shorts. He can still remember taking Lovett’s hand, pulling him into the water long past midnight, Lovett’s smile illuminated by the moon, not nearly as haunted as it’s been the past few months._ _

__“Yeah,” Lovett closes his eyes. He’s framed by the reds and oranges and golds of the Rose Garden, and his cheeks are flushed. “He, ahh, called. A couple of weeks ago. He’s produced a couple of New Girl episodes-“_ _

__“I love that show.”_ _

__“You love Zooey Deschanel,” Lovett corrects. “He’s been shopping around a pilot and, ahh, turns out there is some appetite in Hollywood for political comedy?”_ _

__Jon’s mouth is dry. “Nothing funnier than Congressional deadlock.”_ _

__“I started a notebook of jokes about Posse Comitatus when I was twelve.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__Lovett shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m, ahh, thinking about it.”_ _

__“Yeah.” Jon swallows past the lump in his throat, smiling gently. “Of course you are.”_ _

__Lovett ducks his chin. “Yeah?”_ _

__“Yeah.” Jon nods. “You should talk to the President, but-“ He shakes his head, wishing he had the courage to reach out and touch him out here, in the Rose Garden, where anyone can see. “Yeah, you’re gonna do great.”_ _

__**5\. January 2012** _ _

__“Hey, Lo.” Jon calls, his heart jumping as he sees Lovett. He waves his hands a little wildly and he knows the moment Lovett sees him, his still-pale face splitting into a surprised smile, crinkling into the corners of his eyes._ _

__"Hey." Lovett lets Jon pull him into a short, one-armed hug, and Jon can feel the way he twitches closer before pulling back. "I figured I'd get a cab to the office?"_ _

__It's more of a question than it should be, and Jon wants to wrap an arm around his shoulders. He's been having those feelings a lot lately, but, instead, he pushes his sunglasses down his forehead and digs his keys out of his pocket. He drops his voice, as gentle as he dares, "I've had a couple hours blocked on my calendar for weeks."_ _

__Lovett squints into the bright January sun and, when they get to Jon's government-issued SUV, he shoves his duffle into the backset and climbs into the passenger seat._ _

__He's twisting his hands in his lap, and Jon barely glances around them before he reaches for Lovett’s hips, bending his arms awkwardly over the console so he can pull Lovett in for a kiss. “I’ve missed you.”_ _

__“Me too," Lovett grins into Jon’s mouth._ _

__Jon kisses him one more time, before pulling back so he can start the car, one-handed. Lovett sits sideways in his seat, legs crossed under him, and Jon places his free hand high on Lovett’s thigh._ _

__“I, ahh, thought we could go back to my place? You don’t have to be in the office ’til 2.”_ _

__Lovett swallows, and no matter how many Skype sessions they’ve had over the past few months, the camera has nothing on seeing Lovett here, in person, the full, unboxed presence that Lovett fills every room with._ _

__"Yeah," Lovett swallows, palming himself casually._ _

__"Fuck," Jon groans, almost running into the exit gate before slamming the breaks and reaching for his parking ticket._ _

__"If you get us home safely," Lovett raises an eyebrow, but doesn't move his hand, "there's something in it for you."_ _

__Jon groans, digging his fingers into Lovett's thigh and focusing on the road as well as he can._ _

__***_ _

__"Morning," Jon murmurs, leaning over Lovett and brushing a steaming cup of coffee under his nose._ _

__Lovett groans, pushing him way without opening his eyes. "I'm still on Pacific Time."_ _

__Jon holds the mug at a safe distance. "For the next week, you're on Presidential time."_ _

__Lovett rolls over, his eyes slitting open. "I hate you."_ _

__"I forgot how cruel you are pre-coffee." Jon slides off the bed, placing the cup on the bedside table. "I'm gonna leave this here. Come find me when you're no longer a monster."_ _

__Lovett unburies his hand just long enough to flip Jon the bird. Jon chuckles, heading back to the kitchen to start on breakfast._ _

__"You know how to cook now?" Lovett asks suspiciously as he wanders into the kitchen, a little while later. He's wearing his briefs and a shirt of Jon's, a little tight in the shoulders and pooling, too-long, around his hips. He's clutching the mug of coffee to his chest and his curls, grown out during his months in LA, are long and wild on his forehead. "Should I have poison control on speed dial."_ _

__Jon grabs a slice of bacon from the pan and holds it out. "Try it."_ _

__"That doesn't belay my question," Lovett grouses, but he pushes into Jon's space, anyway. He takes a bite without taking the bacon from Jon’s hand. "Not terrible," he muses._ _

__"High praise." Jon leans down, meeting Lovett for a kiss that tastes like coffee and maple and the mornings they've missed._ _

__Lovett moans, wrapping his fingers in the hair Jon's just started to grow out. Jon pushes closer, spreading his knees and pulling Lovett to stand between them, wrapping his hands on Lovett's hips, so much more healthy and substantial now._ _

__Neither of them hear the key in the lock until the metal drops, loudly, on the hardwood floors._ _

__Jon freezes, looking over Lovett's shoulder to see Tommy, already dressed for the office, his face flushed and his eyes wide._ _

__"Uh, Tommy, I-" Jon starts, and Lovett cringes against his shoulder before pulling back._ _

__Tommy swallows, crossing his arms across his chest, the strap of his messenger bag pulling across his shoulder. He’s staring at Lovett. "I, ahh, I thought you were staying at a hotel?"_ _

__"I am. I was." Lovett mirrors Tommy's stance. "I didn't- I do have a room at the Weston."_ _

__"What?" Behind Jon, the eggs splutter and he turns off the burner._ _

__Lovett shrugs. "Just, in case, you know?"_ _

__Jon glares at him. "No, I don't know. In case, what?"_ _

__"In case someone looked at my expense report and started to ask questions," Lovett shrugs, but he won't meet Jon's eyes._ _

__Jon frowns, saying, more in response to what Lovett left unsaid than what he did, "what a waste of taxpayer dollars."_ _

__Tommy glances from Jon to Lovett, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed pink. "I have a lot of questions, but we're running really late."_ _

__Jon grabs onto the out like a lifeline. "And the State of the Union won't write itself."_ _

__Lovett nods, slipping back into the bedroom._ _

__"Eggs?" Jon asks._ _

__"If you're cooking then, no." Tommy raises an eyebrow at the pan. "How long?"_ _

__Jon dumps the pan into the sink and leaves it to soak. "Long enough. I'm sorry, we should have told you."_ _

__Tommy shrugs. "I get why you didn't."_ _

__"Thanks." Jon digs his hands into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders to his ears._ _

__"If you two are done with your bro apologies," Lovett breezes into the kitchen, still buttoning his shirt, his tie loose around his neck, "I don't wanna be late on my first day back."_ _

__Jon rolls his eyes, but he reaches out for Lovett's tie. Lovett raises his chin, so Jon can tie a perfect knot in the hollow of his neck. He slides his hand between them, squeezing Jon's free hand gently._ _

__Jon places his hand on Lovett's chest for a moment, then shakes himself, reaching for his bag and handing Lovett his backpack. "Ready."_ _

__"Only," Tommy glances at his watch, "30 minutes behind schedule."_ _

__Lovett frowns. "Dan's gonna kill us."_ _

__"You," Tommy corrects. "Dan knows how to place blame where blame's due."_ _

__"I should never have agreed to this gig," Lovett grouses, as Jon locks his door behind them._ _

__***_ _

__Jon stands in the back of the House Chamber, his back straight and his arms folded behind his himself, mouthing along to the President's words. He clenches his fist in victory every time the President hits a particular line or intonation._ _

__Towards the end, Tommy comes to stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "Best one yet," he whispers._ _

__"Yeah," Jon doesn't look away from the President. "Had to be."_ _

__Tommy turns his head, his eyes narrowing. "This is your last one, isn't it?"_ _

__"I don't know. Maybe." Jon looks at Lovett, who's pacing in a free strip of floor a few feet away. His tie is a little loose and his curls are sweaty around his ears. "I've been thinking about it a lot, lately."_ _

__Tommy follows his gaze, then nudges his shoulder. "You'll tell me when you decide, yeah?"_ _

__Jon turns his head. He'd thought it was too much to hope- "Yeah?"_ _

__Tommy shrugs. "We've done everything together so far. Kinda figured we do this next part together, too."_ _

__"Yeah." Jon grins. "Me, too."_ _

__**+1. May 2012** _ _

__“I sold a script,” Lovett says, then, in the same breath, “I’ve missed you.”_ _

__LA is warm and bright - has been since Air Force One touched down early that morning for a Hollywood fundraiser at George Clooney’s mansion in the hills - but Jon hasn’t quite noticed it until Lovett opens his front door. The sun streams through the palm trees, throwing stripes of sun and shadow across Lovett’s face, blinding through the fog of Congressional breakfasts and last minute speeches Jon’s been wading through for months._ _

__“You told me,” he says, as Lovett drags him into the little bungalow he’s renting in West Hollywood, “and me too.”_ _

__Lovett’s smile breaks across his face, the sun reflected in his eyes as he drops to his knees, pulling Jon into a whole different kind of fog._ _

__***_ _

__“Do you have an extra tie?” Lovett wanders into the kitchen, struggling to do the buttons on the cuffs of a dress shirt that is a little too small on him. “I have all my White House ones in a box somewhere, but I’m not sure I can unbury them in the next,” he glances at his watch, “twenty minutes. Also, they’re probably tragically out of style.”_ _

__Jon reaches for his sleeve, sliding the button into place. “God forbid you show up at George Clooney’s in a tie that’s too wide.”_ _

__“A tragedy,” Lovett agrees, holding out his other hand and eyeing Jon critically. “You’re not even dressed.”_ _

__Jon finishes with Lovett’s sleeve and slides his hand up Lovett’s arm, pulling him close. He drops his mouth to Lovett’s ear. “We have time.”_ _

__Lovett leans into him for a moment, then ducks away. “Bus leaves in fifteen. If you’re not on it you’ll have to brave the metro.” He shivers, dramatically._ _

__Jon frowns at him, but, fifteen minutes later and for the first time in his life, Lovett’s in the car exactly on time, honking his horn in the driveway. Jon throws his tie around his neck, checking for his wallet and blackberry, as he closes the front door behind him. “This new obsession with timeliness would have been useful when you were working for me,” he complains._ _

__“Amazing what I can do when I’m not up writing speeches ’til four am,” Lovett argues, as he pulls out of the driveway. “Besides, we’ve got places to be.”_ _

___Places_ turns out to be a burrito shack less than a mile and over a twenty minute drive away._ _

__“Worth it,” Lovett promises, as he eats the burrito, one handed, and drives with the other. He spreads the paper bag on his lap, so the sauce doesn’t drip on his dress pants. “LA can be worth it, if you know where to look.”_ _

__Jon nods, carefully unwrapping his own burrito. “Fuck this is good.”_ _

__“Told you.” Lovett grins, smugly, as he pulls into a neighborhood that looks vaguely familiar._ _

__“Are we close to Andy’s place?” Jon asks, curiously._ _

__“Next block over,” Lovett waves his hand to the left. Then, non-sequiturly, “I’m thinking of getting a dog.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Jon grabs a handful of napkins to shove at the bottom of his leaking wrapper. “Can you have one in the bungalow?”_ _

__“No.” Lovett puts the car in park. “But, I’m thinking of getting a house, too.”_ _

__Jon looks up to see a white, newly painted house with a cement walkup lined by large pots of plants. There’s a patch of cacti framing the driveway and a large “For Sale” sign._ _

__Lovett slides his burrito onto the console and opens his door. Jon follows him._ _

__“It’s a little expensive, but,” Lovett shrugs, “I think it’s worth it, to get the third bedroom. I was thinking of converting it into a writer’s room. I might need one, if 1600 Penn doesn’t actually do as well as the Network seems to think it will.” He chuckles, then bites his lip. “And, I thought, maybe- you’ve been talking about that screenplay for years-“_ _

__He trails off and Jon pulls himself away from the window - there’s a large, comfortable living room inside the front door, with enough space for two couches and a large TV - and looks back at Lovett._ _

__Lovett shrugs again. “I know it’ll be a few years yet, but, maybe, it can be a place for you to go, once you’re done being the most powerful writer in the country? Someplace to, I don’t know, come home to. Start over.”_ _

__Jon swallows._ _

__“Unless,” Lovett continues, quickly. “Unless you weren’t thinking of starting over? If you wanted to stay in DC, that’s fine, I haven’t, like, signed any papers or anything and-“_ _

__Jon has to cough over the thickness in his throat. “No, LA sounds like a wonderful place to retire.” He glances back at the house. “Show me around?”_ _

__Lovett lets out a deep, shuddering breath and reaches into his front pocket for a series of keys._ _

__***_ _

__"Jon, come in." The President smiles at him, ushering him into his office on Air Force One and closing the door behind him. He nods at the folder in Jon's hand. "That for the Economic Council?"_ _

__"Yeah." Jon hands it over. "Lovett looked it over yesterday, added a few paragraphs on Colombia. They're good."_ _

__"Take a seat."_ _

__Jon sits in front of the desk, crossing his legs and looking out at the clouds rushing past them. It's never gotten easier watching the President read his writing, his pen scratching against the page. This time, though, Jon's heart is beating loud enough to drown out the noise of the pen._ _

__He jumps a little when the President closes the folder and taps it against his desk. "This is good."_ _

__"Yeah," Jon agrees, leaning forward to take it back. His knees are a little weak, and he falls back into his chair. “I’ll fix these and get you the final tomorrow morning.”_ _

__The President nods. "Lovett seemed good, too."_ _

__"Yeah." Jon swallows. His hands are shaking a little, and he tucks then between his crossed knees. "He sold a script to series. A political sitcom. It has a star attached and everything."_ _

__The President leans forward, eyeing Jon. President Obama has always had a way of looking at him like he's stripping Jon of his extraneous parts and seeing his core. Jon hates that he may be about to destroy that._ _

__"I haven't seen you this excited about something in a long time."_ _

__Jon shrugs, his shoulders tight and awkward. "I've, ahh, always thought about it. Not in any concrete way, but, it'd be cool, yeah, to sell a script."_ _

__"You really sound like you want to do this soon.” The President smiles encouragingly. “Jon, are you planning on leaving after the election?"_ _

__"Planning’s a strong word," Jon's mouth twists. "It wasn’t premeditated, but, yeah, I think, maybe, I am. The years I've worked for you have been the greatest privilege of my life, sir, and-"_ _

__The President chuckles, waving away his words. "We'll do all that later. For now, tell me a little more about this show. Who's playing me?"_ _

__Jon laughs, opens his mouth to make a joke, but his palms are sweating and his throat is dry and he lets the joke die on his tongue. He’s been pushing this aside long enough. "There's, ahh, something else."_ _

__President Obama clasps his hands in front of him, looking concerned at the falter in Jon's voice._ _

__"Lovett and I- Lovett's buying a house." Jon shakes his head, corrects, "We're buying a house. It's a little Spanish style in West Hollywood."_ _

__The President shows his surprise in the creases at the corners of his mouth and he asks the question with the rise of an eyebrow._ _

__"I should have told you when it started. I almost did, so many times, but I didn't want to betray your trust-" Jon cringes, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. "And this job isn't exactly easy on relationships."_ _

__The President laughs, deep in his chest._ _

__"But then a month became two and then two became two years, and here we are."_ _

__The President lets the silence hang for a moment, then drops his chin into his hands "I do wish you had felt comfortable sharing this with me before now-"_ _

__Jon's heart beats, loud and overpowering, in his ears._ _

__"- but I'm happy for you. And for Lovett. Next time he's in town, bring him around. I'd like to congratulate him in person for putting up with you all these years."_ _

__Jon's heart stops, for a long, terrifying moment, then starts beating again, more steadily than it has for months. "I will."_ _

__"Talk to Jack about the transition. We're going to miss having you around."_ _

__Jon nods, standing up, his knees only a little less shaky. "Thank you, sir."_ _

__He nods then, as Jon is at the door, adds, "I'm proud of you, kid."_ _

__Jon flushes, says, "thanks," and slides out the door._ _

__He leans against the wall for a long moment, taking deep, steadying breaths, and then digs into his pocket for his phone. He types out _how does retiring at 31 sound?_ and presses send._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are kudos are always appreciated! I'll add my Tumblr after author reveals.


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